King Lear was old and tired. He was aweary of the business of his kingdom, and wished only to end his days quietly near his three daughters. Two of his daughters were married to the Dukes of Albany and Cornwall; and the Duke of Burgundy and the King of France were both suitors for the hand of Cordelia, his youngest daughter. Lear called his three daughters together, and told them that he proposed to divide his kingdom between them. “But first,” said he, “I should like to know how much you love me.” Goneril, who was really a very wicked woman, and did not love her father at all, said she loved him more than words could say; she loved him dearer than eyesight, space or liberty, more than life, grace, health, beauty, and honor. “I love you as much as my sister and more,” professed Regan, “since I care for nothing but my father’s love.” Lear was very much pleased with Regan’s professions, and turned to his youngest daughter, Cordelia. “Now, our joy, though last not least,” he said, “the best part of my kingdom have I kept for you. What can you say?” “Nothing, my lord,” answered Cordelia. “Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again,” said the King. And Cordelia answered, “I love your Majesty according to my duty—no more, no less.” And this she said, because she was disgusted with the way in which her sisters professed love, when really they had not even a right sense of duty to their old father. “I am your daughter,” she went on, “and you have brought me up and loved me, and I return you those duties back as are right and fit, obey you, love you, and most honor you.” Lear, who loved Cordelia best, had wished her to make more extravagant professions of love than her sisters. “Go,” he said, “be for ever a stranger to my heart and me.” The Earl of Kent, one of Lear’s favorite courtiers and captains, tried to say a word for Cordelia’s sake, but Lear would not listen. He divided the kingdom between Goneril and Regan, and told them that he should only keep a hundred knights at arms, and would live with his daughters by turns. When the Duke of Burgundy knew that Cordelia would have no share of the kingdom, he gave up his courtship of her. But the King of France was wiser, and said, “Thy dowerless daughter, King, is Queen of us—of ours, and our fair France.” “Take her, take her,” said the King; “for I will never see that face of hers again.” So Cordelia became Queen of France, and the Earl of Kent, for having ventured to take her part, was banished from the kingdom. The King now went to stay with his daughter Goneril, who had got everything from her father that he had to give, and now began to grudge even the hundred knights that he had reserved for himself. She was harsh and undutiful to him, and her servants either refused to obey his orders or pretended that they did not hear them. Now the Earl of Kent, when he was banished, made as though he would go into another country, but instead he came back in the disguise of a servingman and took service with the King. The King had now two friends—the Earl of Kent, whom he only knew as his servant, and his Fool, who was faithful to him. Goneril told her father plainly that his knights only served to fill her Court with riot and feasting; and so she begged him only to keep a few old men about him such as himself. “My train are men who know all parts of duty,” said Lear. “Goneril, I will not trouble you further—yet I have left another daughter.” And his horses being saddled, he set out with his followers for the castle of Regan. But she, who had formerly outdone her sister in professions of attachment to the King, now seemed to outdo her in undutiful conduct, saying that fifty knights were too many to wait on him, and Goneril (who had hurried thither to prevent Regan showing any kindness to the old King) said five were too many, since her servants could wait on him. Then when Lear saw that what they really wanted was to drive him away, he left them. It was a wild and stormy night, and he wandered about the heath half mad with misery, and with no companion but the poor Fool. But presently his servant, the good Earl of Kent, met him, and at last persuaded him to lie down in a wretched little hovel. At daybreak the Earl of Kent removed his royal master to Dover, and hurried to the Court of France to tell Cordelia what had happened. Cordelia’s husband gave her an army and with it she landed at Dover. Here she found poor King Lear, wandering about the fields, wearing a crown of nettles and weeds. They brought him back and fed and clothed him, and Cordelia came to him and kissed him. “You must bear with me,” said Lear; “forget and forgive. I am old and foolish.” And now he knew at last which of his children it was that had loved him best, and who was worthy of his love. Goneril and Regan joined their armies to fight Cordelia’s army, and were successful; and Cordelia and her father were thrown into prison. Then Goneril’s husband, the Duke of Albany, who was a good man, and had not known how wicked his wife was, heard the truth of the whole story; and when Goneril found that her husband knew her for the wicked woman she was, she killed herself, having a little time before given a deadly poison to her sister, Regan, out of a spirit of jealousy. But they had arranged that Cordelia should be hanged in prison, and though the Duke of Albany sent messengers at once, it was too late. The old King came staggering into the tent of the Duke of Albany, carrying the body of his dear daughter Cordelia, in his arms. And soon after, with words of love for her upon his lips, he fell with her still in his arms, and died.